


Love or Something Like It

by pmastamonkmonk



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:00:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmastamonkmonk/pseuds/pmastamonkmonk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock was unable to pinpoint the exact moment that it had happened, which was strange for him as his internal clock was exact to several decimal points no matter the situation and his memory eidetic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love or Something Like It

Spock was unable to pinpoint the exact moment that it had happened, which was strange for him as his internal clock was exact to several decimal points no matter the situation and his memory eidetic.

 

He had realized early on the five year mission that Jim held affection for him. The question had been if it had been more or less than the affection he had for almost anyone he encountered. Jim was a tactile, affectionate person by nature and usually took an instant liking to everyone, as if he were an enthusiastic puppy eager to explore. He would flirt and gently touch every crew member, stare deep into their eyes while discussing matters from ship business to ensign gossip, and his natural charisma left many broken hearts in his wake.

 

But Spock had noticed that Jim would look at him when he thought no one else was looking. His touches would last just _that_ much longer than to be completely normal. His flirtations didn’t hold the usual air of jocularity when directed at Spock, and he almost seemed disappointed behind his laughter and smiles when Spock simply raised an eyebrow at such attentions.

 

And while he had, in recent times, perhaps discouraged Jim’s flirtations with diplomats and foreign dignitaries, stepped in when he was enthralled in a conversation with a pretty yeoman, or invited him to more chess games to eat up his free time, it was not out of jealousy or anything so petty as that.

 

At least not at first.

 

Something, however, changed. In the long months since they had left Earth, over a chess board and during conversations about seemingly nothing that stretched hours into the night, the feelings had snuck up on Spock when he wasn’t paying attention and had made a bit of a home in his heart.

 

And he fell in love.

 

He assumed as much, of course. He had never been in love before, and therefore was not positive that it was not mere fascination or infatuation. Most of his ideas on love came from illogical human movies that Nyota had forced him to watch with her and the idle gossip he’d overheard in the halls of the Academy and Enterprise. It was not much to go on, and in many cases quite contradictory, but if what he was currently feeling was not love, Spock decided it was close enough.

 

Once he had come to terms with how he felt, it was not long before he accepted it. He knew himself logically and was learning to know himself emotionally, and if there had been anything he had learned from Jim thus far, it was that ignoring things did not make them go away. Now that he had accepted his feelings, he needed to decide on a course of action. He could tell that Jim wanted something from him, but the question was _what_ that was, exactly. Did he want Spock’s love, or just sex without any romantic attachment? Did Jim even know what he wanted?

 

Spock needed to find out.

 

..

 

“Hey, Spock,”

 

The greeting was warm, congenial as Spock entered through their conjoined bathroom. Jim had urged him to use it more often the closer they had become and Spock had been unable to find a logical reason not to do as he asked. Jim looked up from his desk, reading glasses balanced on his nose and a smile on his lips. The blonde had previously explained that an allergy left him unable to submit to the corrective surgery that would make the use of reading glasses unnecessary, and Spock was silently thankful. The aesthetic was pleasing.

 

“Nothing in the labs tonight?”

 

“Not that requires my direct attentions at the moment, no,”

 

Jim’s smile widened, a flash of teeth catching Spock’s attention as blue eyes lowered back to the PADD. “Well, I’m almost done here, if you want to wait around. Chess?”

 

“I will set up the board,” Spock replied, stopping at the replicator on his way to the shelf that held the chess set. On his way back to the table, he placed a mug of coffee on Jim’s desk, carefully removing the lukewarm cup discarded off to the side and relishing in the grateful look Jim bestowed on him for the action. Sitting at the small table they used for their chess games, his own cup of tea in hand, he set up the board and waited patiently for Jim to finish his work.

 

It was nice, simply sitting together in Jim’s quarters, enjoying each other’s company. It was domestic, in a way, and the fact that Jim’s scent permeated the air around him only made it better. It wasn’t often that they merely sat in silence, doing their own activities exclusive of each other. Usually conversation filled the air, or they faced each other over a chess board or shared a holovid. This was something Spock could get used to, sitting together in silence, working, enjoying each other’s company.

 

He raised his teacup to his lips to disguise the slight upturn they had taken.

 

A few minutes later, Jim rose, setting his glasses aside as he made his way over. “White again? I’m going to prove I don’t need that handicap one of these days, you ass,”

 

..

 

The planet’s surface was warm. Not to the extreme that Vulcan had been, nor even close to certain parts of Terra, but high enough to require the landing party to voice their discomfort. Repeatedly. To the point that Jim had permitted those who desired to shed their uniform tops if it was ‘that ungodly hot, you big bunch of _babies_ ’.

 

The statement had been hypocritical as Jim had been the first to practically wrench his shirts off, discarding them in a pile at the base of a tree. His arms had lifted to stretch, muscles pulling taught in his back and chest, and Spock had been helpless against the urge to stare at the bronzed skin before him. Jim glanced over and Spock fought the impulse to look away in embarrassment at being caught looking. He did not look away, and neither did Jim. Perhaps that meant something, a sign, maybe, but Spock did not have long to dwell on it.

 

“Heads up!”

 

There was a splash of water as something impacted Jim’s chest, drenching his front. Ensign Danners doubled over in laughter, his arms laden with similar projectiles. “Danners, what the _fuck_?”

 

“Plants, Captain,” Danners replied, still grinning as he held one up. It was a pale green color, malleable as it indented around the Ensign’s fingertips, smooth like a terran tomato and sealed at one end with a pucker, the other with a stub of a stem. The remains of the one hurled at Jim were piled on the grass, flayed open, shrunk and wrinkled like deflated latex “Tricorder says it’s just harmless H20 inside, they must gather it when it rains like cacti. Make for awesome water balloons, though,”

 

“I’ll show you awesome water balloons,” Jim started forward, shrieking when another hit him in the back, this time courtesy of Lieutenant Giotto.  He jumped back to avoid another thrown by Danners, booted feet slipping on the wet grass and sending him sliding in Spock’s direction. The combination of extra weight and soaked earth made Spock lose his footing, toppling them in a heap.

 

Spock let out a small grunt as he found himself with an armful of Jim. It would have been a nice, warm moment if Jim’s flailing hadn’t resulted in an elbow to his ribs and a knee dangerously close to his groin. Jim looked down at him, eyes wide in a shocked, startled manner, a bit breathless from his fall, cheeks flushed.

 

Spock had the sudden urge to kiss him.

 

“Heads up!”

 

Another projectile hit the ground next to them, followed by another that struck Jim in the lower back, splattering both of them with water. There was laughter from the two retreating security officers and Jim scrabbled to his feet to pursue, shouting threats of marks for insubordination and mutiny through his own laughter.

 

Spock pushed himself to sitting, still able to feel Jim’s warmth on his skin as he watched his retreating figure chase their fellow crewmen into the distance.

 

..

 

Spock knew that Jim hated it when people acted like his life was more valuable than the rest of the crew’s simply because he was the Captain.

 

That did not keep him from pushing Jim out of the way of a phaser blast and taking it himself. If he had died, he would have been happy knowing it was in the act of keeping Jim safe. However, while he hadn’t died, he was still confined to sickbay as the dermal regenerators did their work over his wound and McCoy forced bed rest on him.

 

He humored the doctor’s notions, allowing himself a brief respite in one of the uncomfortable biobeds. If he was not allowed to work, it was logical that he take in some rest to maximize the amount of time he would be able to work uninterrupted once released. So, he had settled back into his pillow, closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and slept.

 

The next morning, he awoke to what felt suspiciously like someone stroking his hair. A familiar scent hit his nose as he became more alert, and his heart skipped a beat when he realized just whose calloused hand was upon him. Jim was carding his fingers through his hair, touch gentle and seemingly self-assuring. He was _petting_ Spock’s hair. It was a ridiculously illogical thing to be happy about, but Spock _was_ happy. Wonderfully, ridiculously, illogically happy and if he were human he was sure he would be unable to hide the smile itching to twist up the corners of his mouth.

 

After a few moments, the hair stroking stopped and the hand in question set itself over Spock’s, giving it a faint squeeze before releasing it fully. A rush of _reliefhe’sokaystupidstupidstupidaffection_ flashed through their connected skin, thrumming with warmth when Jim pulled away. Spock listened as the footsteps quieted with distance, the door to his cubicle sliding shut open and shut as Jim exited.

 

Spock opened his eyes and allowed himself to smile faintly as Jim’s voice carried over from his conversation with Doctor McCoy on the other side of sickbay.

 

..

 

As Spock stared through the observation deck’s large window, he resolved that waiting for Jim to make the first move would result in nothing more than his own frustration. For the first time in Spock’s life, he was impatient. Deciding to take things into his own hands, he mused on the idea of making a move soon, perhaps the next day if the opportunity arose.

 

His planning was interrupted by the opening of the door to the observation hall, Jim swaggering in with a grin on his face. 

 

“Here you are, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,”

 

“You could have simply located me using the computers,”

 

Jim chuckled, taking his place to Spock’s left. “That takes the fun right out of looking for you,” he joined Spock in his viewing of the passing of space, his wide grin fading into an easy smile. It was a smile Spock had only noticed on Jim’s face when the other man knew he was there, and was never directed at anyone else. “It’s weird, I keep looking out at the stars hoping to spot a familiar constellation. I forget everything’s going to look different,”

 

“The constellations are dependent on relative location, yes,” Spock replied. Realizing it sounded coarse, he added, “It was a shock coming to Earth and finding the sky so different from my own. Intellectually I knew it had to be so, but I did not seem to realize it fully until my first evening on the planet,”

 

Jim turned his head towards him, his mouth curved up and eyes warm. Spock stared back, trying to draw up the nerve, knowing that he should be taking better advantage of the situation but unsure if he trusted himself to not fail in his endeavors.

 

He turned his gaze back to the window for a moment to gain his bearings back. He would not allow fear to prevent him this opportunity. Taking a breath, he turned back towards Jim, only to be caught in a kiss.

 

Jim was kissing him.

 

Jim kissed him softly, a bare ghost of pressure before firming the contact. It seemed he was unsure how to continue as he pulled back to the ghosting pressure once more, as though bracing himself to need a retreat. As Jim moved to pull back, Spock’s hand rose, curling around his neck and pulling him back in. Lips parted and their tongues touched for the first time. Jim tasted of coffee and warmth and citrus. Arms reached around Spock’s torso to hold him, bringing them flush together, and while Spock was unsure what to do with his, resting them on Jim’s neck and hip appeared to be working well enough. It seemed both were more interested in kissing than the logistical placement of hands, and that pleased Spock just fine.

 

He, himself, now that he knew what kissing Jim was like, was more interested in kissing than air.

 

“Breathe, Spock,” Jim chuckled against his lips, thumb stroking his cheek. Spock hadn’t even noticed the arm shifting from around his shoulders. “We can’t kiss if you pass out,”

 

“If your Terran fairy tales are to believed, the notion would be inherently romantic if not perplexing,” Spock countered, earning another breathy laugh in response.

 

The two stood in the observation deck, simply kissing under the stars until the telltale footsteps from the hall alerted them to the end of Beta shift. They separated, Spock needing to return to the labs, and neither wishing to be caught making out by a crew member. With one last kiss, soft and sweet, Jim pulled away to return to his quarters, his fingers lingering on Spock’s hand until he was too far away to keep the contact.

 

The short interlude had, quite possibly, been the best time of Spock’s whole life.

 

..

 

Spock believed the human term was “eye fucking”.

 

At least, that’s what he had garnered from overheard conversations and some human text. He had often wondered what the term actually _meant_ in a physical sense, but now he knew.

 

Jim Kirk was eye fucking him.

 

Since their interlude on the observation deck a few days previous, schedules had kept the two of them from being in each other’s company for more than a few fleeting moments at a time. They finally had a shared shift on the bridge and while Spock was pretending to read his scanners and log data, he was actually observing how Jim’s eyes stroked over his body as though they possessed a physical touch.

 

It was not the first time Jim had observed him while he had worked, he’d always been a little flattered by the attentions if he was to be perfectly honest. It was, however, the first time since their kisses, and there was a new intensity, a heat in the gaze that quickened Spock’s pulse and set his blood aflame.

 

He had never been so keenly aware of being wanted in such a manner. He knew of the crushes his students had held for him, the way Nyota’s gaze had landed on him with a fire beneath it, how many crew members would observe him from across crowded rooms. This, however, was so new and intense, and for the first time he _wanted_ in return.

 

However, he was not going to give in so easily. He knew by human norms, his ideals were old-fashioned, but Vulcans simply did not do casual sexual relations. He did not wish to partake in a sexual relationship without knowing there was long term investment by both parties. If sex was all that Jim wanted, he would gladly point him in the direction of a bar during their next shore leave, lick his wounds and begin the process of returning their friendship to how it was before he allowed his feelings to step in. It would be difficult, but not impossible.

 

Spock wanted Jim, all of him. Until he found out just what Jim’s feelings were, there would be no sex.

 

A hand clasped his shoulder, and Jim’s body heat crossed the bare centimeters separating them as he leaned over the scanner. “Picking up anything interesting, Mister Spock?”

 

The tone was breathy, soft. Meant for his ears only. Intimate. Spock barely subdued a full body shudder.

 

“Nothing notable, Captain,”

 

The fingers on his shoulder gave a squeeze, thumb stroking ever so slightly. It brushed the skin of Spock’s neck and he could not withhold the tremor that went through him at the fleeting contact. “Well, keep me posted,”

 

Spock nodded and Jim pulled away, moving onto the next station.

 

No sex.

 

Spock hoped he could stick to that plan.

 

..

 

They were trapped in an enemy stronghold, attempting to make their way out to the open air for beam out. Ensign Lemieux was deceased, Ensign Walters was injured, and both Spock and Jim were scraped up. Phasers were drawn as they tried to avoid guards, shooting them down as they went.

 

Jim barely dodged a blast from an enemy weapon, and Spock’s grip on his own phaser tightened reflexively. Alarms were blaring, the enemies were shouting to one another, their location compromised. There was no retreating, there was no tactical escape, there was only brute force at this point.  

 

Spock watched as Jim took another look around the corner, firing off a blast before ushering the group forward. They ran down the hall, pausing at the next corner, Walters keeping her aim behind them. Footsteps echoed in the stone corridors and, while Spock had promised Jim that he wouldn’t do ‘anything stupid like last time’, he still kept more attention on Jim than his own safety.

 

He was worried. He cared. He wanted to make sure Jim was okay, that he would make it to the ship safely.

 

And that worry cost him.

 

Preoccupied as he was with Jim’s safety, he was unprepared for a guard to drop from the ceiling, a blade drawn. He lost his footing and his grip, fumbling for his phaser as the hulking figure slashed at him.

 

Expecting the burn of a cut and the warmth of blood soaking his uniform, he only felt the muted impact as he hit the wall, watching in horror as Jim raised a bloodied arm and shot the man point blank in the head.

 

“Captain!”  Walters reached for Jim’s injured arm, only for him to wrench it back, blood already dripping from his fingers, the gold of his uniform already staining a rusty brown.

 

“Keep us covered, Ensign,” Jim ordered, looking to Spock with unspoken orders and thinly veiled heat. Swallowing thickly, Spock nodded, and they were on the move again.

 

They escaped, Walters taking another hit to her shoulder as they crossed the entryway, and Spock managing to catch a blunt projectile to the hip along with a few shrapnel cuts from a shattered corner stone to the face.

 

All three sat in sickbay, Spock and Ensign Walters being fussed over by nurses with dermal regenerators and antiseptics, bandages and gauze being placed over lacerations too large to healed in one go. Spock ignored the delicate hand tending to his wounds as he watched McCoy work on Jim’s arm on the bed next to his.

 

The cut had been deep, and had gone straight to the bone. Muscle had been torn, Spock was unsure how Jim had managed to even move his wrist, let alone his fingers, with such damage. McCoy was scolding him harshly as he stitched the muscle back together, pulling skin over it and sewing it up the old fashioned way. Jim simply took it, teeth grit over a scrap of cloth to keep himself from vocalizing his pain, too fierce for even the local anesthetic to fully numb it. He could not suppress a few pained grunts and hissing inhalations, and each noise was a punch to Spock’s gut. Blue eyes moved from the bloody gash of his forearm to lock with Spock’s, and didn’t look away until McCoy had finished bandaging him.

 

“Come back tomorrow, and we’ll start with some regenerator treatments. Keep it clean, and change the bandages every few hours, y’hear me?”

 

Later that evening, Spock found Jim their shared bathroom, running his fresh stitches under cold water and hissing through his teeth.

 

“Let me see it,” he murmured, reaching for the arm.

 

“No,” Jim scowled at his arm, an angry red around the black of the stitches, hand trembling and fingers twitching on their own.

 

Spock turned his gaze from the sink, splattered with pink water, to Jim’s face, which was the perfect picture of Vulcan impassiveness. “That was most illogical,”

 

Jim let out a breath that would have been a laugh on any other day. “Yeah,”

 

This time, when Spock reached for his arm, Jim allowed him. Careful not to grip too tightly, he pressed a kiss to the stitch closest to Jim’s wrist, able to feel the raised texture against his lips and chin. When Jim used his uninjured arm to tilt his head up for a real kiss, Spock couldn’t find it in himself to resist.

 

..

 

They had shared a few more intimate moments in the following weeks, but it seemed that every time things began to heat up, something interrupted.

 

A few shared kisses after a game of chess had been stalled when a call came for Spock from the science labs, requesting his presence. A frenzied make out session against the wall of Jim’s ready room had been halted by a red alert klaxon. McCoy would call looking for Jim, Scotty would need one of them down in engineering, Nyota would have already invited Spock to spend time with her during the evening hours, shift conflicts, away missions leaving one or the other too exhausted to do much more than fall into bed.

 

It was obviously having its toll on Jim, who, as his console buzzed, wrenched his head from Spock’s neck with an indignant growl. “ _Now_ what?” he practically stomped over, pressing the button with far too much force. “Kirk here,”

 

_“Captain, we have new orders from Starfleet. They are marked priority one. Shall I patch them over to your console?”_

Jim glanced at Spock. Blue eyes were nearly overcast by the black of his pupils, face flushed and lips moist and swollen from their kisses, trousers tented with a burgeoning erection. Spock wondered if he looked similar.

 

“Sure, Uhura, send them over. Have Chekov make the shipwide announcement. Kirk out,”

 

Pushing the button to sever the connection, Kirk approached Spock only to pause a few feet away, obviously unsure if they should continue their previous actions.

 

“I should probably take a look at those orders,” he finally decided with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck and looking very annoyed.

 

“The hour is late,” Spock agreed. “Chess tomorrow?”

 

Jim nodded, taking the necessary steps forward to catch Spock in another kiss. It lacked the urgency of their previous activities, but made up for it in warmth and thoroughness. Fingers brushed against the shell of his ear, his cheek, stroked down his neck to rest on his pulse point.

 

“We need to be alone,” Jim murmured against his lips. “Soon.”

 

A shudder went through Spock as Jim kissed him once more before pulling back fully, making his way over to his desk. Spock exited through their joint bathroom, taking a glance at his reflection as he passed by.

 

He did look similar.

 

..

 

The priority one mission was one of diplomacy. They were to go to the planet Beta Vega and welcome them to the Federation. It seemed the Enterprise’s notoriety, especially that of its Captain and First Officer, had been a cornerstone in the planet signing on and they were to be sent as a token of good will.

 

A feast was held in their honor. Jim and Spock sat at the head of the table with the leader of Beta Vega, to the natives ‘Jhaduan’, and the bridge crew filled the rest of the table. Drink had been free flowing to the rest of the crew, accommodations were made, and merriment was had. Jim had, for once, remained the gracious dignitary and pillar of sobriety, so when he mentioned taking an early night and casting a glance in Spock’s direction, he was caught off guard.

 

He would have refused, made an excuse to return to the ship, but Jim had rolled up his sleeves after dinner and the scar on his forearm practically glowed against his golden skin. The words died in Spock’s throat.

 

“I will see that all of your people find a comfortable place to stay this evening,” a passing priest assured as the ruler attempted to persuade Jim to remain at the party. “If you’d like, I will have someone escort you to your quarters,”

 

Jim’s gaze had not left Spock’s. “That would be great,”

 

 

The room was extravagant and lushly decorated. The best suite in the palace, they’d been assured, only fit for the visiting heroes.

 

Spock tried to swallow past a lump in his throat as he took in the sight of the large bed in the middle, covered in pillows and thick blankets, decadent even amongst all the trappings of the room. The gentleman who had shown the way was telling them where the bathroom was located and letting them know that should they need anything, they need only to ring the bell to summon a servant.

 

It was all too soon that the other man left them, and Spock found himself chest to chest with Jim, sucking in a breath through his nose as delicate human fingers touched his skin. There would be no interruptions this evening. No red alarms, no calls to the comm units, no emergencies from Starfleet.

 

Spock allowed Jim’s mouth free reign against his neck, his collar, his jawline, his ears, tugging bits of skin between his teeth and stroking the marks with his tongue soon after. His trousers suddenly felt far too confining, his heart fluttering in his side and, try as he might to will it to relax, it only seemed to speed up further. His blood was pounding in his ears, almost drowning out Jim’s voice.

 

“Off,” he kicked at Spock’s boots lightly before reaching down to remove his own.

 

Spock did as he was told, silently as he did not trust himself to speak. He was unsure how to proceed. He knew the inevitable actions, they were simple to understand, but the idea of foreplay, the buildup, it was all so foreign to him. He did not want to offend Jim, to do something wrong.

 

“C’mon,” Jim’s voice was warm, his skin warmer still, yet cool against Spock’s own heated flesh. “What’s wrong?” fingers stroked under the hem of his dress uniform tunic. “You’re being way too quiet,”

 

Moving his hands to copy the action, Spock felt a rush of _want-need-desire_ pulse from Jim’s skin and into his fingertips. “Unlike certain individuals, I do not see the need to speak at all times,”

 

Jim laughed, leaning in to kiss him as his hands moved lower. Spock congratulated himself for not letting his voice waver or shake, but thoughts soon abandoned him as Jim managed to wrestle both their tunics off, distracting him with kisses along the way. The first touch to his bare chest resulted in a noise somewhere between a moan and a sigh from Spock’s throat, swallowed easily into Jim’s mouth.

 

Following their shirts to the floor, Jim knelt before Spock, allowing his mouth to explore the bared torso before him for the first time. In none of their intimate encounters had Spock ever lost more than his blue tunic before they were interrupted. Spock’s knees went weak as Jim’s tongue passed through his chest hair, circling a nipple before biting down.

 

Pulling him back up for another kiss, Spock could feel Jim’s hands working on the waistband of his trousers and, without thinking, he mimicked the motions. They were naked sooner than Spock had expected, perhaps sooner than he would have liked. They were on the bed now, surrounded by plush pillows and he was gripping the thick blanket beneath him with Jim settled between his spread thighs.

 

He was uneasy, but overcome by Jim’s body on him, his mouth, his fingers, his gaze. The first push had both of them gasping, despite the thorough preparation Jim had given him. Urging him to relax and ghosting fingers up Spock’s side, Jim continued, his breath warm on Spock’s chest, skin warm beneath his calves.

 

Spock loved him. Loved him, loved him, loved him. Loved every sound and move and breath and touch. Loved the way he felt inside him and the way he said his name. The way his eyes shone and lips quivered and muscles tensed and relaxed. Loved the way he shuddered and gasped and stroked and moaned. Loved the way he made stars burst behind his eyelids and how he kept going to prolong it just that much more.

 

He loved him, _god_ , he did.

 

Afterwards, Jim lay next to him, catching his breath, skin flushed and sweaty. He managed a laugh, tired and breathless as he rolled onto his side, turning sleepy eyes onto Spock. An arm was slung around Spock, urging him closer, forcing his head to pillow on Jim’s shoulder and he struggled not to smile. Moments from falling asleep, Jim nuzzled into Spock’s hair, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a sigh. A soft and nearly silent proclamation, “Finally.”

 

And with that one word, Spock realized he truly was a fool.

 

 

Finally, Jim’d had him. Jim had gotten him alone, gotten him to submit. He’d found himself thinking of things he had managed not to in the past few months – Jim’s reputation amongst the female crew members. How he would disappear with ambassadorial aides and diplomats on missions only to return a few hours later, an air of smug contentment about him. The stories of past conquests Jim had shared across poker tables with the male members of the bridge crew. He thought about Jim’s eye fucking him, _fucking_ him, just heat and lust and _nothing_ else.

 

How could he have been so foolish.

 

Waiting until Jim’s breath was slow and even, Spock carefully disentangled himself. Jim’s arm reached for him as he slipped from the bed, fumbling for him in his sleep. He watched for a moment, turning when the fumblings ceased to redress. He made as little noise as possible, closing the door behind him with a barely audible click as he made his escape down the hall and past the ongoing party and into the night.

 

The air was humid, the sky littered with clouds, starless. He drew his communicator from his pocket, flipping it open.

 

“Commander Spock here. One to beam up,”

 

..

 

He made excuses. Experiments in the lab, a need to catch up on paperwork, to meditate, plans with Nyota. Anything to avoid being alone with Jim.

 

Many times he would lock the doors to his quarters and simply not respond when the chimes were rung.

 

He sat at the foot of his bed and attempted to meditate. His emotions were roiling, thunderous, and he had yet to manage to tame them. He could not face Jim until he had.

 

“You know I can just override your codes, right?”

 

Spock did not look up. He did not respond. Perhaps if he ignored him, he would go away. 

 

While the room remained silent, it was the heaviest Spock had ever heard. It sounded offended.

 

Offended, and a little hurt.

 

“So, what? You have a problem with me now, is that it?” the question was quiet. In the first few weeks of their mission, it would have been nonchalant, perhaps jocular coming from Jim. Weeks before friendship began and off hours were shared. Months before stolen kisses in the observation deck and stitches. Now, it was angry.

 

And Spock was angry, as well.

 

His eyes opened, and he looked up at Jim, not forcing himself to keep a neutral expression. “Perhaps I do have a problem,”

 

Jim looked miserable. Hair in disarray as if he had been running his hands through it, bags under his eyes, pale. He hadn’t shaved, stubble dusting his cheeks and jaw. He was scowling. “Then tell me, what is it, huh? What the hell did I do that made you so fucking mad at me?”

 

Spock bit the inside of his cheek and turned back to facing the bulkhead. Jim cursed, stomping over and grabbing his upper arm.

 

“Look at me!”

 

Spock didn’t. He refused to. Jim fell silent again, tossing Spock’s arm away. When he spoke again, the anger was mostly gone, replaced by something that sounded like defeat. So foreign was it to Jim’s voice, it almost caused Spock to look at him. “So, that’s how it is, huh? We fuck once and we’re done?” Spock could hear him swallow. “Guess I should expect it after all these years, but I’ll admit I never figured you for that kind of guy,”

 

“I am not,” Spock replied, tersely.

 

“Then what the fuck is this, huh? We date for almost three months and the first time we have sex, you bail out? I wake up, and _you’re_ _gone_. You won’t even _look_ at me anymore, let alone speak to me,”

 

Spock felt a burning behind his eyes. “I heard what you said,”

 

That halted Jim’s rant. “What?”

 

“That night. When we had finished, you said _finally_. I have accepted that I was in error assuming that you would fall in love with me and apologize for wasting your time,”

 

Spock was clenching his teeth so hard, his jaw was aching. He wanted to be alone. What a fool he had been in the beginning to assume that he could simply tuck these feelings away and go back to being simply friends.

 

“Spock…” Jim let out a shaky breath, something close to a laughing whisper. “You’re… you’re so dumb for someone so smart. I fell in love with you ages ago. You think I’d wait for so long if it was just sex I was after?”

 

Spock did look up at that. His brow was knit, looking up at Jim with his shining blue eyes and flushed cheeks and stupid smile. All at once the anger fled and he felt like an even bigger fool, but in a good way. Jim dropped down to crouch next to him, letting out another shaking whisper laugh, reaching a hand forward to stroke his ear, his cheek, cup his jaw.

 

“I see,” he murmured, swallowing against a sudden lump in his throat. “Then I apologize for my behavior the last few days,”

 

Jim did laugh at that, a loud bark of laughter quickly melted into a kiss. “You are such an idiot sometimes,”

 

..

 

“Hey, Spock,”

 

Spock set a mug of coffee on the desk, pressing a Vulcan kiss to Jim’s temple.

 

“I’m almost done,” Jim looked up with a grin, eyes dancing behind the lenses of his glasses.

 

“Do not rush yourself, I am content to wait,” Spock replied, setting his teacup on the table to prepare the chess board. The contented silence filled the air for the next half hour, Spock sipping at his teacup and observing Jim work from his place at the table.

 

When Jim finally set his glasses atop his PADD and approached, he let out a quiet chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to Spock’s lips.

 

He’d been given black.

 

Oh yeah, it was definitely love.

 

 


End file.
